Chapter 15 - A Virtual Birth...

     RING…RING…The phone shattered my sleep. Rolling over I fumbled for the receiver.

     “Hello,” I mumbled.

     “IS THIS THE MIDWIFE?” The voice was hysterical.

     “Yes.” I groggily responded, pulling the phone back from my ear. “Who’s calling?”

     “Uh, You don’t know me and I’d rather not say…” he muttered.

     “I see…pot grower?…maybe on wanted posters?...Why are you calling? Do you have an emergency?”

     “WELL, MY OLE LADY’S HAVING A BABY RIGHT NOW AND SHE’S SCREAMING. SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT. A FRIEND HERE GAVE ME YOUR NAME AND I LOOKED YOU UP. CAN YOU HELP US?” he shouted, his words tumbling out of the phone.

     “First, try to calm down. I can help you better if you don’t shout. Where are you?

     “We’re way the hell out here in the southern part of the county.

     “Do you have anyone with you who knows how to deliver babies?”

     “NO—We don’t know what we’re doing. I looked at a book and it didn’t seem like it was going to be this hard. Some friends came over. We boiled some shoelaces to tie around the cord. She’s hollering her head off. WE’RE ALL FREAKING OUT!

     I could hear the panic in his voice—and the deep, low-pitched screaming and moaning in the background. She sounded close. I knew transport was out of the question.

     “Tell me. Did she see a doctor or midwife during her pregnancy?”

     “No. We lived pretty far away, and we wanted to do this natural like.”

     “Do you have any supplies there, like gloves?”

     “Yep, we got those.”

     “Okay. I’m going to help you. You can deliver this baby. You’ll be just fine. I need you to wash your hands, and then put on the sterile gloves. We need to determine what part of the baby is coming first—whether it’s a head or a butt. Put a friend on the phone and I’ll have them relay my instructions…When he was ready I proceeded to guide him through the exam.

     I could hear shouting. “OKAY, OKAY, IT”S HARD… I THINK IT’S A HEAD… AND IT FEELS LIKE IT”S READY TO COME OUT. SHIT, MAN, I THINK IT’S RIGHT HERE!”

     “Good. Good.” I reassured him. "The baby is almost ready to be born. Make sure the room is warm. Place some towels under her bottom and coach her to just let the baby come on its own. If she feels like pushing, tell her to be gentle—little baby pushes. Have a blanket ready for the baby.”

     His friend’s voice became my voice—calm and steady. I could hear the tension and excitement in the room, as the baby’s head slowly emerged—followed by the shoulders as they dipped beneath the pubic bone. The baby slid out onto the bed and let out a big cry.

     HOLY SHIT, HONEY, WE DID IT. WE DID IT…

     I stayed on the phone and waited until the placenta had been delivered, being sure there was no bleeding. From what I could tell the baby was doing fine—had already started sucking at the breast.

     The father came back on the phone. “Thanks lady. You were really cool. This was unbelievable. Man oh man. I sure want to thank you.”

     I made him promise to get the baby and his lady to a doctor to be checked the next day, and call to let me know how they were doing. “You owe me that, buddy.” I said.

     When I hung up I tucked back in my covers, feeling rather pleased—rather like an airport controller. I’d never “talked a baby in” before.

    

Chapter 14 - In the Zone...

     I was being interviewed. She leaned forward in her chair, a page full of notes on her lap. She began to tick off her list… “I want someone to take care of me who will know what to do if something goes wrong, but basically—if things are cool—I want them to stay out of my face!  “How do you feel about that?” she asked, throwing down the gauntlet.

     Before I could respond she continued, “Do you believe that women can know things about birth without being taught? Do you have expectations of the people you take care of? Would you insist that I go to those ridiculous childbirth classes? Do you need to be in control, or can we be partners in my care?”   

     Finally, she paused and took a deep breath—looked me straight in the eye—waiting for my reply.

     “These are good questions and I am happy to answer them, but first…I would like to hear the story of your last birth,” I asked her.

     She sighed and closed her eyes, as if remembering. She didn’t speak for a long time, and then…“I had such hopes for a natural birth. I was healthy. I read books. Took childbirth classes.” She hesitated…I waited…

     ”When I went into labor I did everything I had been taught to do, but there came a moment when I felt this primal energy sneak up and rip through me—like out of nowhere. I felt like a mighty, powerful animal. I thought, ‘Fuck all this fancy breathing stuff’…I wanted to roar and shout and strut and throw myself all over the room. I started to go there, but then I thought…what is happening to me? Doubt came in… Trust myself? Trust others? My body was telling me one thing, my intellect another. I felt like there was a fight going on in my brain. I wanted to be a good patient and do what I had been taught, but the urge to do otherwise felt compelling and dangerous. So then I panicked and tried to stuff what I was feeling. My labor stalled out. I thought I was going crazy and started crying. The nurses persuaded me to take some medication to get ‘back in control’. It only made me feel confused and I cried more. It was awful. My baby got born eventually, but I feel that I failed myself somewhere in the midst of it all. I don’t want that to happen again,” she said. 

     She looked at me expectantly…I smiled, ”You have SO come to the right person!” I assured her. “I support women and their deep instincts. I believe that they know what to do when they trust and rely on their innate wisdom. I will keep you safe so you are free to give birth in your own way with your own voice. We will do this together.”

     Throughout her prenatal care our relationship deepened. I came to know and respect her strengths and needs. We developed a trust in each other.

     She went into labor in the middle of the night. I slipped quietly into the hospital birthing room. The lights were dim. She and her husband were dancing cheek to cheek to a Frank Sinatra song playing on a CD player on the dresser. Their eyes were closed. She was moaning—his arms supported her as they moved around the room. Slowly he opened his eyes, smiled, and whispered gently, “This is the prom we never had.”

     They continued to dance. Sometimes she would pull away and drop to the floor. He would sit in the corner, watching her with frank adoration. Sometimes he would lie down beside her, massaging her back and legs. She was completely absorbed in her oceanic rhythms, wave after wave sweeping over her.

     I remained still—a protector in the wings, watching over this family—listening to the strong, steady heartbeat of the baby, captivated by the power of this woman. Occasionally she looked in my direction—checking in. I smiled and gently nodded my head “yes”—letting her know that she was perfect and safe—that what she was doing was working.

     Suddenly—her eyes bolted open. She was kneeling on the floor, bent over the bed. I could hear a deep, guttural grunt in her breath. “Oh no,” she exclaimed. “Damn!”

     “What’s wrong,” I asked.

     “I can’t believe it,” she uttered in dismay. “I’m pushing already. I was having such a great time; now my labor is ending!” After three more contractions, squatting there by the bedside, she delivered a healthy baby boy. I was stunned…I had never met anyone who felt that their birth experience was too short!

     Women continue to amaze me when they are able to bring both sides of the brain together like this—cognition and instinct. They go into the zone, and I think they find a treasure box there that reveals to them a greater possibility to transcend the limits of their ordinary human experience. In addition to a baby…an unexpected gift.

    

    

    

     

Chapter 13 – Like a Hollow Bamboo…

     Headlights pierced the pale light and mist in the early morning before sunrise. Their jeep effortlessly plowed through the eighteen inches of snow on our steep driveway like a Sherman tank—bringing my friend, her husband and their older daughter to our home where their baby was to be born.

     A roaring fire in the big stone fireplace, and the soft candlelight welcomed them into the house. Flames flickered and danced through the big hole in the middle of a special log that had been placed on the hearth for the occasion. Coats and hats came off, revealing red cheeks and sparkling eyes. Snow crusted, wet boots were left by the door. Wet scarves and gloves were hung on hooks in the entryway.

     Her water had broken in the middle of the night, but labor had not yet established itself. They had driven here early to nest and settle in. Their excitement lent itself to a flurry of activity. The birthing bed was made up. Supplies were checked. Baby clothes set out.

    With the morning light the household came alive. A hearty breakfast soon appeared from the farm kitchen. Kids were up and dressed, fed and ushered out the door to school. “Please, please, let us stay home,” they begged. “Nice try. Now hurry or you’ll miss the bus. Everyone will be here when you get home, including maybe a baby!”

     When it finally quieted down she stretched out on the couch in front of the fire. Contractions came randomly, but were not serious, like a car that is trying to turn over on a cold winter day. The engine whirrs capriciously, but nothing is really happening.

     “I’m just futzing here. I’m entirely too comfortable. I need to get my butt off this couch. Come on, honey” she said half-heartedly to her husband, “Let’s go for a walk.” On went the coat, hat, gloves, and boots—and off they went…

     As I washed up the dishes, my husband brought more wood into the house. We had been anticipating this moment, and as I glanced around the room, I was content. Everything was cozy and in place for the birth.

     An hour later I heard the stomp of boots out on the porch, signaling their return. “So…how goes it?” I asked, as they swept in the door. “I’m just fooling around here. I have such a habit of puttering. It’s my style to take forever to get anything done. I’m going into the bedroom, and I’m going to get this going!”

     With the next contraction her eyes closed and she whispered, “I am a hollow bamboo.” Supporting herself by hanging onto a counter, her body slowly went into a squat, back straight and pelvis spread wide open. Her jaw dropped slack and out of her mouth came a long, low Ommmmmmmm—one breath—impossibly held through an entire contraction. When it was over she stood back up and slowly and sensuously moved her hips gently in circles. Then… again…she dropped into a squat…Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.

     Within an hour and a half she could feel the baby beginning to push its way out of her womb. She curled up in the bed and grabbed her feet, hips wide, pulling her legs up till her feet touched her nose. Her husband was beside her, supporting her shoulders. As she pushed, her daughter stood behind me at the foot of the bed, one hand squeezing my shoulder to steady herself.

     A little girl slowly emerged. She immediately locked eyes with her father. He stared intently at her and I thought he would faint. “I think I have known her for many lifetimes,” he managed to say when he could reclaim his breath.

     As we were cleaning up after the birth, the two men went out onto the porch. They decided the occasion called for a cigarette. I watched as their smoke pierced the frigid air—listened to them laugh, and wondered what guys say to each other after witnessing such an amazing thing…

    

    

    

    

     

    

     

Chapter 12 - Twins...

“You’re having twins.”

Silence...

     "Twins? Like two babies?”

     “Yes.”

Silence...

     “Cool. You’ll deliver them at home—right?”

     “Wrong. You need to go to the hospital to deliver them, but I would be right there. 

Silence...

     “I’m not good with anybody else taking care of me. I only want you.”

     “Right… Well, I will take care of you during your pregnancy, but a doctor will need to assist you at the delivery. Trust me. I don’t have enough experience with twins.”

Silence...

More silence...

     “Okay. For you, I’ll do this.”

     Pat lived at the end of a dirt road in a little cabin. She and her partner were miners. They lived a very simple life.  With her garden she ate well, She spent most of her time outdoors, and she was radiant and healthy throughout her pregnancy.  She carried her babies to term, and four days before her due date, she went into labor.

     As pre-arranged, we drove in tandem to the hospital. I was more than a little nervous about how she would do. She had a primal distrust of doctors and medical institutions.

     In the labor room the nurse proceeded to ask Pat some routine questions. She refused to answer her. “Pat, the nurse needs some information from you,” I coaxed.

     She looked me straight in the eye. “I said I would come to the hospital. I didn’t say I would talk to anybody but you.”

     Oh boy, I thought. This may not go well… “Well,” I said to the nurse, “It seems I may need to speak on her behalf.”

     The nurse shook her head, incredulous. "She doesn't talk, and... she has a tan ALL OVER HER BODY!”

     So it went… The hours passed. Her muscular body was strong and powerful. She labored on her hands and knees in the bed. Eyes closed. Focused. Hips swaying.

      “Ask her to turn over so I can hear the heart beats,” said the nurse.

“Tell her no,” Pat whispered to me. “She can listen to them this way. I can’t move right now.” So, it continued…

     Finally, in the delivery room—on the bed—she easily pushed out her first son. The second boy was breech, but before they could intervene and try to turn him around, she whipped over onto her hands and knees on the delivery table and effortlessly pushed him out, butt first. The doctor’s eyes bulged out over his mask. He shouted, “Turn her over right now,” as he twisted the baby around her legs. “This is a first,” he muttered and glared at me.

     After the babies were checked out, they put them on the gurney with Pat as they wheeled her back to her room. As she scooted over onto her bed, they took the babies into the nursery.

     After some time passed—worried—Pat said, “Where are my babies? Ask them to please bring me my babies.”

     I came back from the nursery. “The nurses said they are cold and must stay under the warmers,” I explained. Pat leaped from her bed and ran into the nursery, pushing her IV pole ahead of her. A fierce mother bear on the prowl… “Of course, they’re cold. They are just lying there with no clothes on. Give them to me. I’ll put them next to my body. I can warm them right up. Why are they in two separate rooms? They need to be together. Please give me my babies.” She was frantic.

     The nurses wouldn’t respond to her. She asked me, “What are my rights here? What can I do? My babies should be with me. I’m their mother.” She looked at me, dismayed.

     “Well, Pat,” I said, as I nervously cleared my throat, “You have three options. You can go along with everything that they believe to be in the best interest of your babies. You can keep trying to negotiate with them until you both are satisfied. Or…you do have the right to sign them out of the hospital, AMA—Against Medical Advice. To do that you need to feel beyond a doubt that this is safe, and that you will not be putting your babies at risk. You understand, I cannot advise you to do that.”

     She walked back into the nursery to talk to the nurses. Soon she was back. She took out her IV. Proceeded to get dressed. Brought out her homemade baby clothes and blankets. Went into the nursery. Dressed her babies, and walked out. Just like that.

     “Thank you for helping me get my babies born,” she said to the staff. “But now I must make my first decision as their mother. They need to be together, at home with their parents. I will watch over them as carefully as a hawk. They will be fine. I know this.”

      That would probably not have been my decision, but I trusted her maternal instincts, and as their midwife, could respect their right to do what they felt was best for their babies. I visited them every day. Turns out this little quiet family, tucked away in their warm cabin in the mountains, WERE fine. Perfect, in fact…

Chapter 11 - Drawing on bellies...

     Silently she stared down at her round belly—looked up at me, and then down at her belly again. Her eyebrows lifted into little triangles and she started chewing on her lower lip. She was understandably puzzled.

     “Yes, that’s right. Even though your uterus is twice as large as this, your baby is only this big,” I explained, demonstrating the size of a twelve-week fetus with my thumb and forefinger. Thinking that she might have twins because of the discrepancy between her size and her history, I had ordered a sonogram. The results confirmed the presence of a single, healthy, three-month old baby. The oversized uterus was just an unexplained weirdness—not a problem.

     She continued to gnaw on her lip—perplexed. She looked at me again like I had lost my mind. “Let me show you something,” I said. I picked up a marking pen and drew a little upside down baby just over her pubic bone. I gave it features like curly hair, and tennis shoes and long eyelashes. Then I traced the outline of the uterus with a placenta at the top and the umbilical cord spiraling down and attaching to the belly button that I had drawn on the baby. “There, it’s something like that.” I said.

     Slowly and methodically she took her finger and began to carefully stroke this cartoon baby. Her face had a look of childlike wonder. She started to laugh. “What are you doing in such a big house, all by yourself? You’re such a bitty thing. What do you do in there all day?”

     I sat silently on my stool for a long time, watching her—listening to her converse with her unborn child. Finally she looked down at me, tears glistening in her eyes. “There’s a baby in my belly. I can see that there’s a baby in there,” she whispered.

     She had a three-year-old daughter who had developmental difficulties, and a year ago she had given birth to a little boy in Texas who was premature and who had birth defects. He lived only three days. They had suggested to her in the hospital that she might be to blame, that she had not taken good enough care of her babies when she was pregnant. Now that she was expecting another baby, she was convinced that she was incapable of growing a healthy child in a body that had obviously failed her twice.

     The next time I saw her she told me that “even though this might sound silly”, she started methodically setting a place for the baby at the table, and putting food on the plate, which she ate in addition to her own. “I’m feeding my baby every meal now.” I say, “Are you ready? Here comes your breakfast,” she giggled.

     Each visit she would have me draw the baby on her belly—each month bigger and bigger—and then take a picture of it with her camera. Once she brought in a baby blanket to show me how she covers the baby at night before “they” go to bed. “I feel so different this pregnancy, like I’m already a mama. It seems like we already know each other,” she beamed. “Do you think this is possible—to know someone before you even meet them? “Yes, I do,” I reassured her. “No one could do a better job than you are doing, caring for your baby.”

     A few months later, when she gave birth to an eight-pound healthy baby boy, I was not surprised to see this mother and child come together, like two old souls. She had taught me how something so simple as drawing cartoon babies on bellies, can connect a mother to a visual reality of another human being living inside of her, and could play a crucial role in mother and child bonding before birth.

     Not surprisingly, this soon became a routine part of my pre-natal care…

    

    

    

    

     

Chapter 10 – Transcendence…

     First there was this—and then there was that—right from the beginning. She truly didn’t feel that she could do this—make a healthy baby inside of her body, and have it come out alive. Every different sensation she experienced was a cause for deep concern. “I’m afraid. Something is wrong; I just know it. I feel funny. I think my baby is moving too little…too much…" Week after week, she fretted, and she limped along. “What do you think? What should I do?” 

     She threw up a lot during her pregnancy—said it was her nerves. She’d get so depleted that she would go and see her Doctor and have him give her an IV to tank her up. I started having her come see me every two weeks, then every week; she needed constant handholding.

     My God, I worried…where would she ever find the inner strength and confidence to get this baby born? She was someone who easily gave up her power to other people. “You do it…I can’t.”

     When she went into labor she tiptoed carefully into the birth room like it was mined for explosives. I held my breath. Things went pretty well until she was about four centimeters. Then it started…”Help me. Do something. Help me.” She would shuffle up and down the hallway, dragging her feet like she was being led to the gallows. Her lower lip would quiver, as she sucked in air and whimpered like a little kitten. “Oh dear,” I thought. “What to do here? She is in a death spiral, and her contractions are not even very strong or close together.”

     She shuffled along like this for hours without any change in her progress. At times like these I was at a loss. Do I, “There, there, her” with my soft voice and reassuring manner?” Do I get tough and have her “Get a grip.” Somehow, neither of these options struck me as being optimal strategies.

     I had an idea… “Carol,” I said, “I’m going away for thirty minutes. When I return I want you to tell me what you want to do. We can do whatever you like. Would you like to go to the hospital? Do you want some drugs? A C-Section? Do you want to stay in the birth room to have your baby? Anything is possible, but you need to decide.” Then I slowly left the room and went downstairs.

     Good grief. What have I done? She hadn’t made a conscious decision during her entire pregnancy. I nervously stared at the clock like it was a bomb ticking. After a half hour I went upstairs.

     “So…” I said, clearing my throat, “Do you have a plan?” “YES.” she shouted, glaring at me, nails shooting out of her eyes. “Aha…and…?” “Well, I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I want to go to bed!” She had puffed up a little, seeming rather pleased with her decision.

     “OK—she wants to go to bed. Great idea,” I agreed. She started organizing everyone. Ordered me to go sit in the lazy boy. Had the nurse stretch out on the floor, and asked her husband to curl up with her in bed. I put the footrest up and leaned back, both ears wide open.

     It was quiet at first. Then I heard the shift in her breathing that comes when a woman’s body is miraculously opening. The pitch dropped lower and lower. She began to moan. I quietly moved to the bedside. Within an hour she was pushing, sitting cradled in her husband’s lap.

     She reached down to feel the baby’s head as he was emerging. “Oh my God. There’s a baby there. It’s coming out. I DID IT. I DID IT ALL BY MYSELF!” She wept and laughed. Tears flooded my face. This was epic. She had come into this birth almost like a helpless child, and ended up a mighty conqueror, victorious— overcoming an inner demon that had paralyzed her most of her life… In addition to a baby, sometimes the outcome of birth is also transcendence.